


The Long Walk Begins

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [45]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: Mikkel, Sigrun, and Reynir set out to walk to the outpost and rescue.Edited to add a conversation where Mikkel and Reynir figure out the connection between the cure and the ghosts.  It occurred to me that Mikkel knows about the connection later, but I don't recall him ever learning it.
Series: Mikkel's Story [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Kudos: 7





	The Long Walk Begins

They walked.

Mikkel led the way, pushing the heavy wheelbarrow and bearing on his back the largest backpack Emil had found, heavy with books. Reynir followed close behind, his own backpack much lighter, filled with bedding and one of the tents. Sigrun came last as rear guard. Mikkel had vetoed her suggestion that she wear a backpack and she had not argued.

He was desperately worried about her. Her arm looked no worse, or not much worse, despite the exertions of the previous day, but she was not recovering and seemed weaker every day. He knew that, before the Great Dying, there had been antibiotic-resistant bacteria, the result of irresponsible use of antibiotics; that was a cautionary tale told to every doctor, veterinarian, and medic. In the decades of desperate struggle after the coming of the Rash, there had _been_ no antibiotics, and it was generally supposed that the antibiotic-resistant bacteria had died off, out-competed by normal bacteria or simply deprived of their human or mammalian prey.

But what if they _hadn't_ died off, here in deserted Denmark? What if they'd been in that canal? What if – oh, gods – what if they'd been in the streams when he'd organized those baths?

He pushed the thoughts away. There was more than enough to worry about here and now. They had no scout and he worried that he would lead them into a pitfall hidden under the snow, or that another grossling would lunge from some fallen building, or – any number of disasters. The vast cold silence of the deserted city unnerved him; the sound of the wheelbarrow grinding through the snow, the crunching of their footsteps, even the purring of the kitten, riding on top of the overloaded wheelbarrow, seemed to echo weirdly in the ruins.

They walked.

It was cold and getting colder. His pendant seemed to draw in the cold, freezing against his skin. He wanted to pull it out but that would require stopping, letting go of the wheelbarrow. _Damn this thing! How does it get so cold? It's done this before … it did this before the ghosts –!_

He stopped, turned, looked around in alarm. There was Reynir, but Sigrun … Sigrun was not in her position! There she was, sneaking off to the side, dagger ready, focused on a stag which stood looking the wrong way, distracted by something out of their sight.

“Sigrun!” he called in a harsh whisper. “Come back! We've got to get out of here!” She looked back, annoyed. “Come back! Something's wrong!” She looked away, took a step toward the stag. The pendant was burning him, searing into his skin. “Please! Quickly!”

With one last regretful glance at the stag, she returned to her position as rear guard. He yanked up the handles, all but ran from that place. He soon had to slow down lest he leave the wounded captain behind, but he pushed the pace as much as he dared. The pendant warmed slowly until it was just a stone hammer again.

“I really wanted that venison,” Sigrun said sadly, breathlessly, a few hundred meters later.

He stopped, giving them all a few minutes to recover, looking warily back the way they'd come. “So did I.”

They walked.

It began to snow again shortly after noon, and Mikkel had a new worry: what if their tracks were covered? What if the boys (as the older man thought of them) couldn't find them?

But no. Lalli was an experienced scout and Emil had the map with their course marked; Mikkel didn't need it, of course, being able to examine it in his mind's eye whenever he wanted it. If their tracks were covered, the boys would simply follow their course until they met up. Indeed, he thought he should be more concerned that the boys would get ahead of them and _he_ would be trying to find the tracks of the other party. He could do nothing about those worries and pushed them aside.

They had to stop for lunch; it was impossible to keep walking endlessly in the cold without food. He did not light a fire as gathering wood would take too long, so it was necessary to scrape the soup out of a jug into the bowls, and scrape it out of the bowls to be eaten. Watching his companions consume the mess uncomplainingly, Mikkel was struck with painful memories of Emil grimacing and whining about the horrible food. Would they ever meet again?

“What was wrong back there?” Sigrun asked, still a bit annoyed. “The kitten wasn't upset, Braidy didn't say anything … And I really wanted that venison.”

“I'm … not sure.” He was reluctant to mention the pendant as he hadn't mentioned it before and he now felt a bit ashamed of his skepticism. _Magic is real and my pendant warns me when … when what?_ He needed time to think about it. “It just felt … wrong. The stag was looking at something …”

She regarded him narrowly, then shrugged. “Okay. I get that. But if there's one deer, there must be more. Maybe we'll get another one.”

They walked.

As evening drew on, Mikkel pitched their tent – only one – in a ruin which provided two walls to block the wind and a partial roof to keep off the snow, with plenty of debris around to burn. Normally he would have hidden the fire from possible grosslings, but in the cold weather, hoping for the other party to show up, he judged it best to let the fire be seen.

But the boys did not come.

“It is too early to worry,” Mikkel told Sigrun, who was staring into the snowy darkness as if by sheer willpower she could bring the others to her. “It's not a terribly cold evening” – not killing-cold, at least – “and the scout will know how to find a safe place to overnight if need be. Don't go out looking for them tonight,”

“I'm not going to! I'm not an idiot! But I'm backtracking tomorrow morning, if they don't show up.”

“I can accept that. Only … go around that place where the stag was.”

She grunted in acceptance, looked away, and the three sat in silence for a while. At length, Mikkel rose to answer a call of nature out of sight of the others, but Reynir ran after him. “Wait! Stop!”

“I need to take care of business,” Mikkel answered, strangely uncomfortable discussing this in front of Sigrun, even in a language she did not understand.

“Not over there!” The other was actually pushing him back – or trying to, at least, since the big Dane substantially out-massed the slender Icelander. “The ghosts set up camp over there.” He waved toward the wreckage of a large vehicle. “They're just waiting …”

Mikkel stared at him with concern and just a little residual skepticism. The ghosts were that close? Held back only by the runes drawn on the tent?

“What is going on?” Sigrun called, “What is he saying?”

“He's letting me know where the … spirits are.” Even now, he could not keep a little skepticism from his voice.

“Then you listen to him! Him and that stupid cat are our only lines of security now!”

He surrendered. “Where may I go?”

“That direction is fine.” As Mikkel departed in “that direction” for a little needed privacy, he heard Sigrun grumble to Reynir, “I cannot _believe_ you're our lifeline now …” Fortunately the Icelander had no idea what she'd said.

“I don't understand this,” Mikkel told Reynir after staring long into the fire, pondering. “Tuuri --” he managed the name only slightly choking, “said that ghosts were generally harmless. And presumably she'd know with two mages in the family. So why are these so hostile? And so powerful?”

“Onni said he'd never heard of ghosts hanging around more than a few years, certainly not ninety but he thought they'd be very angry and dangerous. And they are!”

“But that doesn't make sense! _Billions_ of people died all over the world ninety years ago, including in Finland and everywhere else that people still survive. Why aren't there ghosts like this everywhere? Why only in Denmark? Why is Denmark diff --” Intuition told him the answer quite suddenly. “Denmark had the cure. It was the cure. The cure created the ghosts.”

“Are you ... sure?”

“We found ghosts where the cure was used, and the cure where the ghosts were.” The enormity of it staggered him. “They released the cure to spare people pain, and instead condemned them to ... whatever the ghosts are experiencing.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then turned as one to look over at the vehicle where the ghosts hid, visible only to Reynir. Sigrun, sitting wearily by the fire, had not looked up at the sound of the conversation, and Mikkel thought it best not to translate.

Soon the others turned in, sharing warmth under a common blanket in the small tent. Mikkel banked the fire as it was too late for the boys to come. He stared into the moonlight, thinking about the pendant. _When did it do this? In the tank, when the ghosts attacked … but not at Kastellet. So it doesn't respond to the presence of ghosts specifically, not even hostile ghosts. Because they **were** hostile, even then. When else …? In the hospital, I think, but we were running away. So – according to Lalli those ghosts were after him. After us. Does it only respond to attacking ghosts? Maybe – but does it always? Was it cold on the night of the attack? I don't remember … we were preparing to battle for our lives. Could the thing be … aware? Could it have realized that I didn't need a warning and didn't need to be distracted?_

He pulled it out, gazing at it with something close to awe. _You warned me today, and I paid attention. Thank you. I will always pay attention._ He turned it over and over in his hand. What should he do to thank it? If it was aware … but he could not imagine what a stone hammer would even want.

 _Maybe I should give it to **Sigrun.** Now **there's** someone who needs a pendant that burns her when she's about to go into danger! But – would it work for her? There are superstitions … maybe it only works for me because Maja gave it to me with her love. And could I give it to Sigrun with –_ No. Oh no. Mikkel broke that thought off _hard_.

Rising, he took the kitten – almost a cat now – and prowled around the campsite, scrupulously avoiding the vehicle sheltering the ghosts. There were no grosslings within range of her feline senses, but that was not to say that they could not attack during the night. Or that the ghosts might not go find some and drive them against the party. He resigned himself: he would have to stand watch all night.

Surprisingly, however, as he stood wakeful, leaning against a wall beside the tent in the wee hours, Reynir slipped out of the tent and tapped his shoulder. “Sleep. I'll watch.”

“You can't. You're –”

“Not immune. But not stupid and not a child. I'll have the kitten, and if she alerts, I'll wake you. I'll wake you both. There's no reason I can't stand watch. And you need to rest.”

Mikkel stared at him in the moonlight. Reynir was right, of course. It had been drummed into Mikkel so thoroughly and for so long that he must protect the non-immunes that it simply had not occurred to him that the non-immunes could do _anything_ to protect themselves. He _had_ been treating Reynir as a helpless child all these weeks, and he was wrong.

“Yes. Thank you. It is your watch. I stand relieved.” As he ducked into the tent, he thought the Icelander stood a little straighter, a little more proudly.


End file.
